The Lost Children
by Measured
Summary: Partial AU. They were all searching for something: Ike for his father, Ena for her lost love, Soren for the happiness of the only person special to him. All of them searching for a jaded god who granted wishes but had unanswered wishes of his own.
1. The Boy Who Could Not Shiver & Shake

Title: The Lost Children

Day/Theme: October seventeenth / the boy who could not shiver and shake

Series: fire emblem 9 (path of radiance) but quite au

Character/Pairing: in this chapter, Ike, Mist,

Rating: PG for now, probably up to PG-13 in future chapters

Summary: they were all searching for something, Ike for his father, Ena for her lost love, Soren for the happiness of the only person special to him, all of them searching for a jaded god who granted wishes but had unanswered wishes of his own

Note: perhaps this shows how much time I spent with fairytales as a child.

The numbers beside each chapter represent Ike's age at that point in time.

For the reference, Ike was born in summer, and starts out at age Ten. Mist was born in late spring, and starts out at four- _almost_ -five, Soren is born in early fall, thus is ten as well.

Also I should note a certain structural change. Originally I set out with pairings in mind (and listed them) but in the end I decided this was more a friendship story, a journey than a romance. There's some things that people might see as subtext and there will be one or two canon pairings that I won't reveal just yet – but at its heart this is a tale about acceptance and bonds, of growing along the way than actual romantic love.

The Lost Children

I. The Boy Who Could Not Shiver And Shake. (Ten)

When Ike heard the news, something deep inside him turned still, silent and cold. It was as if for that moment he had been turned to stone, and when the curse was lifted, traces still remained. For a moment life lost all its realness, Ike was here, breathing, existing, and somehow his father was no longer there. No longer guiding him, teaching him swordsmanship or simply being there.

Greil had vanished into the air he had first appeared from.

Ike had been the last to see Greil alive. He remembered it, can still see the images float and dance if he close his eyes. It feels dreamlike, something unreal, born of a fever or of sleep. The moonlight had been an odd shade, yellow-red, that fell upon leaves that trembled in fear, or anticipation. The path hurdled in front of him as he ran, shaking unsteady towards the sound of conflict.

His father fought against a knight clothed in armor so dark, it seemed formed out of the night itself, just another facet of midnight, another nightmare sprung to life. Ike saw sword and axe meet, glinting silver in the wan light, his father and opponent reduced to silhouettes beyond the meeting of metal edges sharp enough to cleave bone. Ike screamed but no sound came out, voiceless and hollow, the only sound was feet over solid ground, dust dispersing around them, and of weapons laced in combat, everything else was swallowed up by the immense black night. They seemed evenly matched, each blow was met or parried, until Greil lost his footing for a millisecond, a mere fragment of time, stumbled – the knight struck. It looked as if they were embraced, Greil swallowed up in dark material under which arms and bone and a heart surely beat. Ike reached out, too far away, too young — _"Father!"_

There was no light, no forewarning of what was to come. The night became darker, too dark to see, his father and the black knight swallowed whole into the black hole of nothingness surrounding them.

Greil and the knight were gone. No trace of them remained, except footprints that circled to nowhere. Ike searched until a blister formed in his right shoe, following the tracks and the places they'd been. He walked through the woods, filled with the surreal feeling that he would wake up soon – the moonlight was reddened as the night lengthened, the color of spilled blood.

Ike walked and walked and walked, throat hoarse with a choking feeling inside clawing to get out.

When Ike woke the next day, he had leaves in his hair.

**.**

Already news had passed that Greil had vanished. By afternoon, the entire company. They seemed live waves of strangers to Ike, empty faces, blurs of people who once worked for his father and yet were nothing to him when his father disappeared. Titania had been away delivering a formal message to the nearby ruling Lord, Shinion had left immediately, Trevan and Yan had moved on to another group. It was clear to Ike – no one else was going to find his father, they'd already given him up for dead. That left only him, no one else to depend on.

There was few things to pack, a few outfits that would last the trip and the only sword that was light enough for him to wield, some food, a blanket light enough to carry and the few coins he had earned the week before running errands. He wouldn't dip into any other funds even if it was for a good cause.

Taking one last look at his room, he slipped out through the hallway.

He only got halfway through before he realized that Mist followed him

Mist followed him, dragging along a ragged stuffed animal behind her. "Brother..." she mumbled. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find father."

"You can't!" Mist clung to Ike, digging her fingers into his shirt, twisting for a better grip. At four, almost five she still had the softness of baby fat around her cheeks, especially noticeable when she smiled or pouted.

"But, Mist–!"

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. "Brother, please!"

Ike turned, steeling himself against her tears. "I can't. Father would never forgive me if you got hurt."

"Take me with you! I won't be trouble, I'll be good and I won't get in the way, I swear!"She tugged on his sleeve, demanding his attention.

"Mist, you're way too young to go with me. You should stay for when Titania comes. It's too dangerous for you to go."

She stomped her foot in frustration, "I'm four! _almost_ five! I can take dangerous things too!"

"Mist, I already told you, I have to find father, and I can't do it if I'm worrying about you getting hurt" Ike said.

"Brother... Don't leave, not you too!" This time she really did cry, big splashes of tears that formed wet trails down her face, which was crumpled and red in anger/sadness.

"Mist... Alright. But don't leave my side."

She looked up at him, hope coming through the remains of her tears. "Promise you won't leave without me?"

"I promise." Ike said.

When they left it was on a side path through the nearby woods. The ground was moist, damp, smelling of earth and rotting leaves. A canopy of treetops surrounded them, shapes of sky peeking through the finger-like branches. Under the crooks of a bent, ancient tree, they slept there, the first night, on beds of leaves and soft moss collected from the north side of trees as makeshift pillows. Their sleep was dreamless, yet fitful.

The next morning they wove out from under the shade to meadows and a path that lead further, to somewhere uncharted, unknown, to where their father would surely be.


	2. The Tongue Cut Sparrow

Title: The Lost Children: II. The Tongue-Cut Sparrow (Ten)  
Fandom: FE9, but quite au.  
Day/Theme: 10 . 28. wild at heart  
Character/Pairings: Ike, Mist, Soren  
summary for this chapter: A memory only half-remembered and two children in the woods. Through this a mute boy finally finds his voice.  
Wordcount: 6,200+ this chapter, 7,300+ total so far.  
A/N: ..and by tomorrow I obviously mean a year later. For my defense, my computer crashed taking my almost-finished chapter and ficnotes with it.

There's some allusions to RD spoilers, though nothing too concrete yet.

* * *

They'd spent the week wandering. The leafy green forest looked far less inviting at night, with each rustle Ike was alert, gripping the hilt of his sword – the lightest he could find and yet still too heavy for his small frame. Every morning he practiced,. Swinging the blade in arcs,. tying to remember the exact words, movements, his father had taught him. Every day, the memories of his father seemed a little fainter, a little less certain. He clung steadfast to every small detail, memorizing the cragged landscape of his father's face. The sound of his deep, laughing voice, the way he held his sword. Ike would practice until his arms burned and ached, blisters forming on his small hands. He pushed father, he would grow strong for Mist's own sake. They survived mostly on nuts and berries, his attempts at hunting were unsuccessful, Though as of yet his attempt a t starting a fire were an exercise in failure. Even if he had caught anything, it could only be eaten raw. Mist bit her lip to stop the tears and tried to put on a brave face.

"We'll be like the Sacae, remember in the books Titania read us? We'll get horses and we'll find father much faster!"

"The Sacae lived on the plains, Mist. I don't think they lived berries. Besides, they aren't real, they're just faerie tales."

Mist stuck her tongue out. Her brother had no imagination at all! "Then we'll be faerie children," she said. Ike stared blankly . Really, her brother was so _ dense_ sometimes.

* * *

At night they'd nestle close, curling together, with Ike's cloak wrapped around them. Without fire, there was nothing to drive back the chill of the night, the clammy nightmarish slivers of fear that crept around them, always hanging near. Mist clung close and begged for stories, and Ike complied. Not faerie tales, as she wanted, but tales of Greil, their father. As if to keep him alive via memories, however light, Ike would keep that flame alive.

* * *

If anything, Ike was stubborn. So stubborn that as they wandered further, through the forests of Gallia, where beasts supposedly ruled; even as all of this attempts at hunting failed, Ike left every morning, following the still-damp footprints in new mud. Ike had never hunted with his father, thus he had never been taught the most common rules and techniques. Even through this, he persisted in his own clumsy way. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that if he could unlock the secrets of finding and catching animals, he would be that much closer to finding Greil. Pressing his fingers to the damp earth, he focused on the trail, as if it would impart some unknown knowledge; the one fact that eluded him, how his father had literally vanished into thin air.

He perhaps had focused too much on the finding and less on the path. He lost the sense of time and direction, and along the way, he lost the rabbit. He was far from the camp where he had left Mist, still sleeping in a hollowed out tree.

Ike noticed other tracks then, cat paw prints, so large that he could fit his entire hand inside them, even with his palm stretched and fingers splayed out. The tangle of trees all looked the same, Ike fought the rising panic, he was a man now. His father had driven in the point as soon as Mist could walk that he was to guard her. Ike promised himself to never let either of them down.

Ike retraced his steps, with the swallowing of fear came clarity seeping through him. The prints increased, with sounds that tent terror coursing through his veins again. He heard aa growl, a swoosh of powerful limbs leaping through the bush. The creature before him was feline, yet the largest he had ever seen in his short life. The cat was sleek, its lithe body tensed, as if it could pounce at any moment. The cat had a coat that was, strangely enough, blue, and its were two different shades, gold and purple. The cat looked like some creature from Mist's stories, it regarded Ike with a face that seemed to have a human quality, with shades of seeming bemusement. "G-get back," Ike yelled, clutching tightly to the handle of his tiny sword. If anything, this seemed to 'amuse' the blue cat all the more.

"I'm warning you–" Ike said, louder, as if volume would cover the frantic beating of his heart.

The cat looked at him, for a long moment, studying the curious hairless soft being before him, the little lost boy that was Ike. Then, finally, it made a moment almost like shrugging, leaned unto a crouch and leapt. Ike froze, adrenaline screamed, instincts alight, but the blue cat soared over him and landed gracefully in into the bushes, disappearing into the forest beyond. It took several minutes before Ike could even move, still his blood pulsed anxiously, the trace of ancestors that knew what it truly was to be prey.

He noticed something lying on the ground where the cat had been, Ike went to inspect. It was the rabbit he had been following (or at the very least _a rabbit)_ he picked up the broken body, still damp from the saliva of the cat's maw, and the lifeblood of its last breath. It was limp in his hands, he was so hungry that the thought of eating it only caused slight revulsion. A gift from the cat. He'd shown that cat, spitting and hissing like a kitten and almost drawing his thorn-like sword. Maybe he'd slay lions one day. Escaping alive was his first step.

Ike took the gift and followed his path back towards the camp.

* * *

Mist woke some time after Ike left. She stretched and wiped away the last of the sandman's dust from her eyes. Or was it faerie dust? Maybe both, she thought, her mind still a little groggy as she settled into the afternoon's sunlight. She smoothed the creases from her dress and frowned at a spot on the skirt. Usually she'd never notice such things, too busy playing to consider the consequences, but she liked this dress. Titania had bought it with her and it was a pretty yellow, like sunlight or spring dandelions. The memory of Titania and her father, something so soon, as if it had been just yesterday and it made tears sting at her eyes. She balled her fists and pressed them until the traitorous tears went back and she saw colorful stars and faerie dust behind her eyes.

Still, what to do about the clothes. Ike's were already turning ragged and she hadn't learned mending yet. She hadn't been old enough to help with the washing, even though she had liked watching Titania with work, she could hardly remember what it entailed.

When her thoughts returned to home, she saw linen hanging out to dry, white and fluttery like clouds, like flags of things she didn't fully understand, things called 'war' and 'surrender'. Still, Mist was determined to help. She hummed as she shook the leaves and dirt off their sole blanket. Then she peered around looking for the tell-tale flashes of red through all this green and brown. She'd seen a bush with brilliant red berries, such pretty things that looked so juicy her mouth watered.

It took a few minutes to locate it again. It was farther than she thought, near the edge of the forest. She'd picked up broken sticks to use like crumbles in the tale of Hansel and Gretel. It crossed her mind that the story was very much like them, except their father hadn't abandoned them in the woods, he'd simply disappeared. She couldn't waste breadcrumbs, especially when the birds would snap them all up. But these specially bent and broken sticks would have to due until then. Mist only hoped there wasn't a witch about to snap them up, like the birds with the crumbs, even if there was a house made of candy.

She reached up as high as her tiny arms could reach and plucked a berry. Mist pipped it into her mouth, expecting a sugary sweet taste. Instead, she found it i_bitter_/I. She grimaced and felt like spitting it out, but her stomach twisted with hunger. Resolve firm, she grabbed another handful and popped the entirety into her mouth until they were bulging like a squirrel's. It tasted dry and rough, even more bitter than the first taste had been. Hot tears ran down her cheeks but she forced herself to swallow it down. Maybe the berries were actually nice but just needed sugar? She wondered where you could find sugar in a forest. Under a tree, maybe? She'd have to look harder for hidden sugarflowers. She was sure she could find them if she looked hard enough.

Titania had said that the bitterest cherries made the sweetest pies. (Her mind went back to home then, the warm hearth that she'd scoot as close to as possibly, but not _too _close., lest she get burned again. Sweet aroma of baking food, especially sweetcakes and pies.)

She didn't feel strong or brave, just sick. She popped another handful into her mouth. She'd be as brave as she could be. And she needed her strength if she was going to help Ike find their father. She chewed and swallowed the horrible berries. Her stomach gurgled and a sudden wave of pain hit her as she crumpled to the ground. Hot tears fell against her face, suddenly seeming farther off. She'd be...

* * *

Ike returned. It had been harder than he had thought it would be, retracing his tracks. Even with his feet leaving prints in the damp ground, brush and leaves often covered it. The rabbit was light in his hands, sodden wet. He could feel the indentation where teeth had punctured through the fur and skin.

"Mist!" He called. No response came, no high and cheerful voice welcoming him back. Maybe, he thought, she was still sleeping,. His sister was such a silly sleepyhead.

He dropped the rabbit down and scanned the camp, feeling for a moment like the mighty hunter that he wasn't.

He called her name, but heard nothing but his own echo in response. He poked the bedding blanket, but found it almost folded, as best as should could do. He checked the ground for signs. The earth was kind and willing today, and it didn't take him long before he found her footsteps beside a trail of broken branches.

She'd left a path for him to follow. Smart girl.

Ike traveled it fast, wondering if she'd been kidnapped or dragged against her will. There wasn't another set of tracks and no dragging or struggle, but it was always a possibility.

When Ike finally came to the edge, he caught sight her tiny body lying in under the bushes, red juices dripped from her mouth like blood.

"Mist!"

He ran to her and bent down and shook her, terror ripping through him. He'd i_told_/I her to be careful, he'd told her—

"Mist, Mist, you've got to wake up!"

She groaned, and coughed, clutching her stomach.

"Brother..."

Her skin was clammy and yet unnaturally pale, and her eye looked dazed, unfocusing. He tried to pull her up but she couldn't stand and was so cold.

"_Mist—!_"

* * *

Father Radolphus dipped his quill to the inkwell, only to find it dry. He frowned, his lined face creasing as he tried to remember if there was any more red ink stocked. Manchaw berries were quite prevalent around the area, and while poisonous and uneatable, they made excellent ink, especially for the preservation of such sacred texts as these. Manchaw berries resembled the smaller, sweet-smelling Michew berries which made excellent jams.

Every year the healers and monks were called for some child who had mistaken the two. Sometimes, they weren't found soon enough and another victim was claimed to the twin berries. The will of the gods was a strange thing, he thought. To make two berries so alike and to take so many lives from that trickery.

He touched his forehead where his reddish hair was already receding, the ebb of time pulling him back like tides. Only in humans, the waves did not return in this lifetime.

"Soren," he called gently. He heard the soft padding of footsteps as the boy came into view.

The boy was always silent, his eyes blank and impassive. Most of the other monks in the brotherhood found him disconcerting at best, downright repulsive at worst. True, there was much scorn in those blood red eyes, which were wary, like a beaten stray. Still, Father Radolphus saw the skills which this child had. Already he could write and transcribe as well as the newest initiates, and he knew the child couldn't be over ten. Soren was a dutiful worker and complied to every task, no matter the difficulty or tedium involved.

Then again, he never spoke, thus could hardly give complaint.

"I need you to get some Red Manchaw Ink from the widow Percina on the edge of the forest."

The boy gave the slightest of inclinations of his head, the only sign that he had heard Father Radolphus at all.

"Pack yourself some food from the storage, it's a long walk."

The boy blinked once. His mouth was a firm line that never wavered. His eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

"And be careful, they say there's beasts in the forest. Remember, the beasts fear fire."

Father Radolphus smiled.. He knew there was little to fear, for he knew this boy's secret. It had been accidentally revealed, for he did no delude himself to think that Soren would trust him enough to share this untold talent with him.

The boy had magic. Even at such a young age he could control flame and wind alike with admirable skill that would be lauded in any mage.

One of the first things he gave to the boy were some magic tomes; books that captured the essence of wind and fire. Soren was still too frail to wield about the essence of lightning, which proved a more weighty read than the others. And Soren hid these gifts well as Father Radolphus had told him in no uncertain terms that the books were to remain their secret. Shortly after that Soren had traded his rages for the small black and gold robes of the initiates and officially begun work under Father Radolphus.

With talents like this at such a young age, the boy was certainly a prodigy. With a little grooming, a bit of taming he could turn into quite the magician. Once that could perhaps change the flow of time, or even the world. A child like that was one he could put his hopes in.

* * *

Soren packed a small lunch and consumed one small fruit and a moderate amount of bread before he left. Simply enough to make the lunch last as long as possible. Perhaps he could supplement it with some nuts, herbs and berries upon the trip home. He knew well to limit his rations, even if Father Radolphus had shown him some kindness, it did not extend to the rest of the monastery.

Father Yulius, the cook and storage-keeper begrudged every bit of food given out, especially to Soren. However, despite the hostile nature of some of the lesser monks, Soren found this place far more appealing than digging through refuse and sleeping on doorsteps with stray dogs. It took only a little maneuvering to keep his place, and it was well worth the effort. He'd already learned enough to have a skilled trade, and if he did choose to stay, he could likely rise in the ranks quite early as long as Father Radolphus didn't die anytime in the near future.

Of course, Soren knew he wouldn't stay that long. Still, it was heartening to know that the option was there.

He still hadn't found the boy, the one with the warm hands and deep blue eyes. The dreams of him had become more frequent now, even as they weren't as desperately needed. When he had been alone, Soren had searched deep and formed the dreams, fitting together the pieces together so carefully lest he lose one. They were his finding stars, his hope. Conjuring dreams was only one of the talents pressed into him at a young age, and it didn't take Soren long to master it.

It galled him to stay in this town for such a long period of time without searching. With autumn would come the cold nights and Soren did not want to spend another winter feebly searching for warmth and sustenance on the filthy streets.

Soren packed the tome with the essence of fire as a last resort. If he was attacked by a beast, perhaps this would scare it off and give him enough time to escape. Soren was pragmatic enough to know that he couldn't take one on alone, not at his current level of training. However, the beasts in this area were weak, easily frightened, and not particularly aggressive.

Soren shouldered the pack, wincing slightly at the sheer weight of the tome. He would have to manage a more efficient way of towing the heavy books.

The path to the forest turned rough a third of the way and Soren stumbled over ruts and large rocks.

He passed through the unseen gates of the forest, his hand on a warding charm given to him by Father Radolphus. One could never be too careful.

He kept a careful eye out as he neared the Manchaw berry bushes and the residence of the widow Percina. He noticed children out of the corner of his eye, and but for one odd twist of fate, instead of keeping to his duties, Soren turned to look at them.

Soren was not in the habit of stopping to help beggars or orphans of any kind. They could take care of themselves, few had ever given him even a passing glance when he had lain there at the side of the road, few had ever stopped to give him kindness.

And yet this one child drew him nearer. He had to step closer to see if his eyes were deceiving him or if this was in fact an older version of that boy.

All the details fit. The deep navy eyes and the same hands, the hair turned blue, like stormy skies and seas. But he was thinner, and taller now. But still, the same face, the same i_feeling_/i around him. The cycle had come to full circle. From a young boy giving food to a starving, stray of a child to now where the same boy was on the other side.

The irony of this situation did not escape Soren, though he hardly reveled in it.

The boy was bent over a young girl who lay beneath the berry bush.

Ah, Manchaw berries. It happened every year. Soren knew the stages of the poison with intimate detail. First they became disoriented and racked with stomach pains. Then their skin would turn cold and damp, and finally it would end with paralysis and death.

Soren touched the boy on the shoulder, and the boy whipped around and stared at him, one hand on his sword hilt.

"Oh, you're my own age," he said, obviously relieved. He relaxed his hand on the hilt, and his wariness ceased just as quickly as it had began.

Foolish and naive, Soren thought. Thieves could be any age, and more than once he'd witnessed children used to lure prey by adults. Given the gift of food and gold many would turn a blind eye to whatever their clients asked for.

But it was most definitely the same boy, the one he had been searching for all this time. The dreams coalesced with reality and memories. A thought crossed his mind that there hadn't been recognition across the boy's face... Soren pushed the thoughts aside for the moment and attended to the small girl. The poison looked as if it hadn't set in completely, upon seeing him in her dazed, delirious state, the girl moved her arms in a weak gesture.

Soren bent and wrote in the soft dirt. _She's poisoned. Get her to a healer_

The boy looked at the lettering and squinted hard.

"Shh...eee... Po..poi...son--" the boy said, reading along out loud. It was obvious that reading was not his skill.

Soren signed internally. He pointed to the girl, and then to he berries. He drew a finger across his neck as if it were a knife.

"I don't understand, you're saying the berries what?"

Soren dug through his pack. pushing aside tomes and lunch. The herb which he had packed lest the Manchaw seep into his skin.

He crushed the antidote over her mouth and the green juices fell over her lips. He lifted her head as he had often seen the healers do and crushed more of the essence into her.

The paralysis hadn't stuck yet, that was a good sign at least. Still, the herb could only stave off the initial symptoms, once it had reached too far, the curing process became a great deal more complicated.

Soren pulled out the food and pushed it into the other boy's hands.

The boy looked confused. "For her?"

Soren shook his head and pointed at the boy's chest. _for you..._

He'd never give something for nothing, especially not to a simple beggar never – to anyone but this person. Soren searched for the words which bubbled up within him, the dreams he'd had all solidified before him. He shook them away before they could blind him any further.

He grabbed up his now lighter pack and hurried away. The reunion would have to wait a little longer

* * *

When Soren came into his room flushed and with an expression of urgency on his face, Father Radolphus knew something was very wrong.

Soren tugged at the father's sleeve, pulling insistently. Father Radolphus had never seen him this agitated. He collected his heal staff without another word and pulled over the last of his monk's habit over his head.

Soren shook his head and pointed to the staves in the corner.

"A mend staff?" Father Radolphus replied.

Soren shook his head again.

"Restore?"

Soren nodded.

_Another poisoning,_ he thought grimly. Odd, as Soren took the dangers in life with a blank, uncaring attitude. He'd never seen the boy actually race to his side to save a poisoned child before.

Soren pulled at his sleeves the entire time, leading him towards the woods. Father Radolphus walked as fast as his ailing legs could take him, and yet it never seemed fast enough for Soren.

When he finally reached the area, he saw a boy bent over a small girl, the tell-tale signs of red Manchaw's poisoning well on the way.

She was a young thing, brown hair matted and stained yellow dress. Her cheeks were still quite plump, she couldn't have been alone for long.

Yes, through the red staining her mouth was the green of the leaves with antidote quality. Already it would be working against the toxins. Soren had done well, he thought with pride.

Father Radolphus held the restore staff over her and said a prayer to the gods that this one would be spared. Bathed in the light color returned to her pallid skin and warmth began seeping back into her.

"She needs rest, child.."

The boy looked wary, his face so much like Soren's when Father Radolphus had first brought him inside the walls of the monastery. But unlike Soren, that wariness soon passed to a childlike trust.

The boy allowed Father Radolphus to carry his sister back. She slept the entire time, even when being over the bumps and ruts of the twisted dirt path. Upon reaching the monastery, he laid her in the sick bay and charged Father Kinnias, the order's healer. Father Kinnias left her to he care of Brother Ishes, a shy young novitiate who already showed a marked talent in care of the sick and injured.

He soon found out their story. The boy was named Ike, and the girl was called Mist. He had guessed them to be no older than Soren and he was quite correct. Ike spilled out the story all at once without any trace of his earlier suspicion. The story would seem to most false, ringing of a child's fantasies and nightmares, but Ike seemed so determined and sure of himself that he couldn't bring himself to dismiss it.

And besides, Father Radolphus knew the veracity in that tale. He had known that nightmare and its name. The vision that Ike had detailed matched his very own.

Soon after the telling and even before night had fallen, all three of the children were fast asleep. Ike in on the floor near the sickbay where his sister was still fast asleep, and Soren on the couch near to them. Father Radolphus lifted them one at a time, each as light as kits, and placed them on the empty cells of the unused novitiate rooms. The room he chose was a double room, which seemed fitting. They each slept soundly from their separate sides, facing each other from across the distance.

* * *

The next morning, after a breakfast of tea and lukewarm porridge, Soren cleaned and dressed himself and wrote a clear, concise note. He busied himself with chores while Ike slept in. After every few swoops of the ink Soren would look up and see if the boy had risen, only to return sullenly to his work when he saw that Ike had not.

Ike slept until noon and Mist slept even longer. Soren had watched silently from outside the sickbay while Ike bent over her bed and ruffled her hair. He called her 'sleeping beauty' and 'princess' while she sputtered at him.

The poison hadn't seemed to have any lasting effects other than a slight weakness.

When Ike finally left he almost bumped into Soren, he hadn't taken the cue to leave from his post soon tenough. Soren thrust the paper to Ike's hands, a lilting expectation fluttering in his chest. _My name is Soren_ the paper said, written in large clear letters, easily read by any beginner.

Ike stared at the paper and made clumsy sounds as he tried to decipher the letters.

Father Radolphus was near enough to overhear the exchange. He smiled benevolently, took the paper from Ike and read it aloud.

"He's saying that his name is Soren."

"I'm Ike," he said, for the first time showing the hint of a break in his frowning, the first hint of a smile and the first sign that he was still a child.

"It's rare for him to try and talk to outsiders."

But Soren ignored Father Radolphus, his gaze locked solely on Ike, as if he would vanish if he took his eyes off of him for a minute.

* * *

Even with the treatment of the antidote and restore, Mist still remained somewhat weak, certainly too fragile to travel immediately.

It was disconcerting, almost, that mere weeks ago he would've been off playing or training, swinging his sword about and waiting for his father's laughter or a pat on the head but that was all gone now. A pang of sadness hit him as he remembered again that night: the leaves, the moon, the well of darkness that his father had vanished into.

Even though they couldn't begin looking again until Mist got better, Ike never let himself dwell on the memories. With his father's passing, he had grown far older than his years. He busied himself helping Soren with errands.

Soren never talked, but sometimes Ike thought he saw lips moving, almost-whispers that he never could seem to hear.

Soren had saved Mist's life, and his own. That's all Ike needed to know to like him. Yeah, he didn't look anything like anyone Ike had ever seen, he looked almost doll-like with his deep-white skin and piercing eyes, but Ike felt a sort of unexplainable camaraderie towards Soren and he never questioned it.

Not once.

He'd noticed that the townspeople and the monks (with the exception of Father Radolphus) had a certain aversion towards him. And it took a lot for Ike to notice things, Mist didn't call him rockhead for nothing.

So when he went to get ink, as the trip of yesterday's had been forgotten in the commotion, Ike didn't miss the uncomfortable air as the neighborhood children stared at Soren.

They followed them almost the entrance of the woods, their toys forgotten as the children stalked them like predators stalk their prey. All to the forest they had said nothing, but Ike noticed the renewed blankness in Soren's expression, the tight set of his jaw. Maybe he wouldn't have noticed the changes at all if the thin, flimsy makeshift walkingstick Soren had fashioned hadn't broken under the tightness of his grip.

Even the exchange with the widow Percina was terse. She pushed aside a greying strand and brought out the ink without another word. The payment was done quickly, but her cold grey eyes never left them. They burned with suspicion.

Ike was glad to be rid of her and the entire forest.

He hadn't expected the crowd to be there when they returned, for there was no knowing how long a trip like that could take. However, the children all were there waiting for them, like a murder of crows perched in the trees.

And this time they were not silent.

_"Scaleling!"_

"_Cold one!"_

Soren looked ahead, each step metered and exact. He did not run or make any note that he sensed the angry insults that rained down on him. But even with such a show of strength, his lower lip trembled, ever so slightly.

_"Filthy half-breed scum!"_

Anger built up in Ike, like fire engulfing dry brush, he didn't even think before he grabbed the first boy and punched him It was a raw, untouched fury which burnt inside him. He grappled and scratched and pummeled the group of boys. He barely felt their returned blows. Their numbers overwhelmed him and even as he fought the boys closed

It was the sound of wind that made them scatter, a howling that came closer and closer. He saw green light spinning towards them. He did not see the wind surround the children for the ensuing dust storm had caused him to close his eyes. The sound of the wind silenced their cries and fear.

"Soren--! Are you ok?"

Soren was unhurt despite it all. Ike felt relieved for that at least, for a moment he had worried that the nightmare had come to take Soren away too, that this spinning green howling wind was a sign that Soren too would vanish into thin air.

They did not talk on the way back, nor would this incident be mentioned, not until many years later. The children all survived, the scrapes and bruises and broken bones, for Soren's handle on magic was still new. His powers had not come into full bloom yet.

When they returned to the monastery Soren cleaned Ike's wounds. He refused to let any other monk help, it was his task alone.

* * *

By two more days, Mist had regained her strength and Ike's bruises had already turned several different shades. Mist called them beautiful, but she didn't have to live with them.

Soren rarely left his side now, he was like a second shadow, following after every step. The days were warm and long, the nights soft in their coolness, like a caress.

Already Ike was getting antsy. With each day that they spent here, his father would be farther away, maybe miles and miles ahead by the time they left.

Of course this left the question of _where_ his father had gone. Ike had never focused much on the _where_. He merely knew that his father had disappeared and it was his duty to look for him, even if that meant searching under every stone in Tellius for some clue of his existence.

Ike only stayed one more day, by then that Mist was already running around with flowers in her hair, the poison long purged from her system. By midday his few belongings were packed.

Father Radolphus stood at the gates. He looked aged beyond his years.

"You should stay here, child. We'll care for you until you're reunited with your remaining family."

"I have to find my father. I know he's out there – I _saw_ him!"

Father Radolphus nodded, a bit sadly. "I wish you well on your journey. Please, take some more food. Soren will get it. Soren—"

Soren came with a rather large pack and set it down before them.

"That's it, I suppose," Father Radolphus said. "They're leaving now, Soren, you should say your goodbyes."

Soren's eyes widened and for a moment he was still and blank, and then something inside him that had been holding back for so long broke, and everything flooded out at that moment. He gave a sound like a cry lodged deep, a pain that had kept too long and amplified under the pressure of being hidden.

"N...no...!" he gasped.

"Soren?"

Soren looked anguished. In all his years Soren hadn't made the remotest of expressions save for scorn, nor had he ever spoke, his voice had been caged with every blow. Each vowel and syllable was new, each emotion felt rusty and strange inside him.

"No... st..ay."

Soren clung to the edge of Ike's sleeves. He held on so tight he could feel his own fingernails through the material.

"Soren? You want to come with us?"

Soren didn't answer directly, but clutched Ike's hands. The same hands that hand saved him, the tiny forming callouses and dirty nails. The same fingers interlocking. The same person he swore he'd never lose again.

"Of course you can come, Soren, but it's a long ways, you really want to come?"

Soren nodded, a quick bob of his head and struggled to lift the pack again. Ike helped him, and they carried it together, Mist skipping behind them.

* * *

Father Radolphus watched them leave until they became mere specks in the distance, their shadows eaten up by Gallia's thick forests. He prayed for them and their long journey ahead, for he knew very well that they would need it.

With this task done, the Father called Radolphus disappeared, his death a convenient one that no one questioned. He was old and far too fond of the half-breeds. Many of the order were glad to be rid of his ideals, and those that did miss him were quickly silenced by their more powerful brothers.

Human life was so transient. One could work their whole life for peace only to have it ripped away when the pyre's embers were still warm.

In the middle of the forest the spell broke. Red hair peeled back and the humble monk's habit turned to colorful silks.. It had been an easy enough disguise, an old benevolent monk relocated from a larger, more prestigious order. Just enough presence to find the secrets of the brotherhood, and then to have just enough to save a few half-breeds. Little enough to be forgotten and swept into dusts on his passing.

Nothing would change drastically, but perhaps he had swayed the path ever so much with his movement. As long as the Goddess Ashunera slept and the rest of the gods bickered in her absence, little would change. Only tiny threads that he himself had plucked and twisted, tricking fate to do his bidding.

Sephiran unfolded his dark wings for the first time in more than half a year. He stretched from his stooped position and flew. The stars shone as if in welcome to his return.


	3. Fae Children

Title: The Lost Children: III. Fae Children (Ten)

Fandom: FE9Au

Day/Theme: January 18th – warm strangers

Character/Pairing: Ike, Soren, Mist, Oscar, Boyd, Sephiran

Rating: PG

Word Count: 5,147

Chapter Summary: Three brothers travel through a small forest after the death of their parents. The youngest swears he saw faeries, the middle child is skeptical and the oldest finds methods of taming even the wildest of creatures.

A/N: Later than I wanted it to be...urf. Oh well, Nano allows little time for revision thus if I'd posted it then it would've been very rough indeed. Christmas had me busy with more Christmas gifts so yeah.

I hope to hurriedly finish the fourth chapter before the end of the month to catch up. Hopefully, might not make it, though as I have another project to get though–

Fae, Faery, Fairy and Faerie are all used in here and all apply. Let's say..there's no true translation of the world in this universe so even if one paragraph uses Fae and another uses Faery (or one uses it differently within the same sentence) any can and will apply. It's not lazy writing, it's an actual choice on my point.

Just putting that out there.

**.**

The Lost Children

III. Fae Children (Ten)

**.**

It was warmer with Soren curled up with them. Soren had brought blankets and supplies so when they bedded down all three of them burrowed into the leaves in the hollows of trees and the wind howled and raged but blew over their hideaway.

Soren had more experience, and without him, they might have quickly starved. His memory was vice-like and he could tell apart the edible mushrooms, roots and berries from the poisonous ones.

"We need to keep searching," Ike said.

"I can lead you there," Soren said. He didn't look at Ike as he said it, which was an anomaly. He always looked deep into the eyes like he was searching for something left there long ago.

"Which way are you headed? North should take us back to Crimea, far enough south and we'll go into Goldoa, a place a myths and supposed dragons."

"Well, we're looking for father," Ike replied.

"But _where_?" Soren said.

"We'll find them where we find them," Ike said.

If anyone else had said such a thing Soren would've rolled his eyes at such a careless notion. But as it was Ike, Soren said nothing. Even if their search party consisted of little more than a haphazard path of checking under every rock, Soren would lead Ike to every single rock in the land if need be.

"I can map out a path, we're near to a town," Soren said.

"You haven't gotten lost once since we started, you must be really lucky, Soren," Ike said.

"Hmm, Luck," Soren said.

Hadn't it been said so many times in paraphrase? Luck favored the bold, luck was tenacity of purpose. It hadn't been luck that had lead him to Ike, it had been determination — and yes –– a certain element of chance.

It wasn't luck that lead him now through these forests, it was something deeper and unknown. Something intrinsic, an instinctual knowledge of mapping within wild places.

Ike and Mist never questioned Soren's knowledge. He seemed so experienced compared to them. He had seen parts of the world that they hadn't, and it was a very bleak world indeed. It was as if all those years of quiet had kept bottled up a well of bitterness that burst into the air when unstopped. Soren found fault in everything and questioned every motive. His tongue was sharp and his opinions were always bitter. Unless it related to Ike, where he softened enough to be civil and even kind.

If Soren's devotion to Ike was a river, his grudging acceptance of Mist were the streams that tapered off to the sides. She was Ike's kin, and thus inexorably bound to the silent promise he had made to protect Ike, thus he accepted her every whim, no matter how unappealing.

"Faerie princess Soren!" she cried as she put flowers behind his ears and wove them into the ties on his robes.

Soren gave Ike a desperate look, but Ike was too busy trying to tame the flint and make it obey his command. As much as he struck it, only smoke and a few sparks that went out just before they drifted to the tinder.

"Let me," Soren said. He brought out a book and stared directly at the tinder. He whispered nothings and moved his hands at exactly the right points. A spark lit fell to the wood and consumed it. A flower fell from his headdress and turned inwards as the flame licked at this offering. The smoke that rose was sweet smelling, and beloved to all of them.

"That's amazing! " Mist said.

"That's great, Soren! We won't be cold anymore now and the animals won't bother us at night," Ike said.

Soren found as always, a way to put a cynical side on things. "The tome will eventually break. We can't misuse it."

"Yeah, but for now we'll have fire and hot meals," Ike said. His optimism was catching.

Mist twirled around with flowers in her hair. She danced around the flame in ancient lost revelry. It did not solve the whole problem of food, however. Soren had managed to collect roots and berries, but they had a dry, chalky consistency and left an unpleasant aftertaste. Ike's attempts at hunting hadn't gone anywhere, though Soren had begun to weave and build snares.

They'd only caught a small sparrow, one that Mist couldn't bear to eat and cried until they set it free. After that Soren thought maybe it would be best if any meat they caught was cleaned and indiscernible before she saw it.

They were still surviving. Without Soren they would have likely died hundreds of possible deaths without his small, bony hand to guide them.

They wandered for days through the forests of Gallia. The usually temperate woodland seemed endless, a living, breathing wave of trees and moss and ground that had sprung up around and surrounded them. What had once started as a grand adventure of heroes quickly turned less appealing as the nights turned colder. Autumn was not far away and with it would come winter. Soren had survived winter on the streets. He knew how the cold could penetrate skin and rags and how everything turned into a mere sliver of life. Survival was the only thing, even talking or thinking seemed a waste of precious resources.

Winter brought out the animalistic part in everyone. Soren found the best way to survive such a time was to find some place with live-in work. Monasteries, some innkeepers or shops would allow temporary help. Some were honorable, but others tended to ignore certain aspects of the contract, such as paying or allowing the worker to leave when the Spring came.

Perhaps, Soren thought, it would've been a wiser idea to stay with Father Radolphus.. At least when Winter was bearing down upon them with its grinning fangs glittering in the cold moonlight. Frost silvered over the grasses in the night. They huddled closer as the days lessened and gold began to line the falling leaves. Soren counted each day with foreboding.

**.**

Mist knew that there was something different about Soren. Whether fae or spirit, she didn't know, But she noticed the little things: his hair was like a raven's feathers, while seeming to be a coal black, it shone a greenish hue in the sunlight. His skin was too ashen and once she had seen Soren cut himself on a tree branch. The blood was red only for an instant before it turned deep black, like lava cooling and hardening after a fire storm. His deep blood-red eyes seemed to be inhuman, almost monstrous even down to the cat-like way they reflected light in the dark that gave them the impression of glowing red in the moonlight.

But far from afraid, she was elated to have a new fae or magical playmate. She promised she'd keep that secret safe. And she kept that well, so well she even kept it from Soren himself.

Hoofbeats were the loudest sound in the deepening forest. Bird's cries, the nightly chorus of insects all seemed background music to their old dun mare. Their steed patiently obeyed her rider's odd request of over the rough path of the forest. She no doubt thought her owners madmen, but followed their command nonetheless. Oscar patted her flank as he walked on beside her.

"Good girl," he said in that same soothing, calm voice. She nickered.

"Are we there yet? I'm getting seriously sick of trees," Boyd said.

"Soon enough, Boyd. Soon enough."

"Can I ride again?" Rolf, the youngest brother said. "I'm tiiiiredd."

Oscar dismounted and Rolf let out a _yippie_ as he sat astride their dun mare again. They rode on even as the sun drew sleepily into the horizon. The light peeked through the dark finger like branches that reached up as if they were in praise of the creation.

It wasn't long before they came to an enclave of sorts. It was on the banks of a shallow stream that cut through the woods in zigzag tears across the face of the dark, damp earth. It was soft enough, and suitable enough with no apparent dangers so Oscar deemed it good enough.

"I suppose it is getting late. We should stop for the night," Oscar said.

"I'll go collect firewood!" Rolf chirped.

"Not alone you won't," Oscar said.

"Me? But I was the one _walking_ all day, he was the one who rode!" Boyd said.

"_Boyd._," Oscar said.

"Alright, alright."

Oscar unloaded the dun mare and tied her reins to a tree. He lead her to the stream where the cool water filtered through the pebbles. It was slightly brown, but she drank gratefully.

That being done, he unloaded the heaviest of their belongings, and the most precious. Each iron or steel pan was laid about with care as he brought out another helping of their dwindling supplies.

With that, he began to work his magic. He drew the water and touched the bundle of the precious flint-sticks – the necessary tools of the non-magicians. Soon he'd be feeding licking flames and stewing their dinner. Not quite yet, but soon.

Still, it couldn't hurt to get prepared. Oscar drew water and readied it to be boiled. He washed and began to slice the potatoes using a small knife he had purchased two towns ago. Soon the bag would be empty, they were also running low on vegetables.

There was enough for a few more days but after that they'd either have to reach their destination fast or survive off of the woods. Oscar lifted his head as he heard the crashing of Boyd stomping in and dumping a pile of sticks as willing offerings for the fire. Soon Rolf came in carrying a smaller load.

"Just in time," Oscar said with a smile. He piled them un in a triangular form, like an altar and scraped the flint-sticks. It took several tries and sparks before the flame caught. They built it a flame-mansion and fed it as much as it desired. In the firelight Oscar brought forth the tools of his trade and began to boil his concoction.

**.**

Rolf snuck off in the morning, determined to do his share of the work. Boyd had spent his share of the stick collecting doing little but complaining. In the end Rolf had picked up most of the sticks

He heard a humming beyond the other path, the one with flowers growing near the large scarred rock. Everyone knew that rocks with flowers growing beside them were gateways to another world, a place where fae lived in endless reveling and days passed like years for the eternally young. There had been many a tale told of those blessed and cursed to lay their head at the Fae queen's lap. When they returned, their families, their friends – all had long since died as time steadily wound its way on without them.

Still, Rolf's curiosity got the better of his story filled fear. Just think how jealous Boyd would be when he found out that Rolf had been the one to see the beautiful fae girl and not him—

He pushed aside the reeds, and caused more noise than he intended to. Still, the humming persisted. Either this faerie was very brave and not shy at all like the tales told, or she hadn't heard him (or assumed him a woodland creature. A mouse, or a quail of some kind)

She had flowers in her light brown hair, a color like caramel or thick warm buttery spring chocolate. Her dress was a dandelion yellow, but had been marred by all kinds of stains and rips so much so that the color was almost lost.

"Are you a little fae girl?"

She giggled. "Have you come to my lands, mortal boy?"

"I come to seek knowledge of your ancient race!"

They both collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"You look like you're my age, are you really hundreds of years old?"

"Hundreds and hundreds!" Mist said.

"I'm five," Rolf said.

"I'm _five-hundred_," Mist said.

"I'm looking for sticks," Rolf said.

"So am I. For _magic_. Here, I'll show you. I've got lots of practice, being five-hundred and all."

They picked up firewood together sicking traditional childhood songs. She wove flowers into his hair when they had finished (_"They're magic,"_ she'd said) He thought she must have been fae considering that he lost a whole morning and afternoon as they passed by with such speed that he didn't even realize the time had vanished on him. Rolf left after that, with

**.**

Rolf ran so fast that most of the flowers fell from his hair during the wild stumble through the forest. Upon reaching camp again he dropped the sticks to the ground.

"Rolf! We were worried," Oscar admonished. "You shouldn't run off like that. I sent Boyd off to find you and he got lost. _I_ had to go find him."

Rolf was still far too wrapped up in his cocoon of euphoria to take note of such admonishments. "You won't believe it! I met a faerie girl!"He cried.

Boyd looked up from his seated position on a crumbling log. "Rolf, have you been eating the mushrooms around here again?"

"No! I really did! She was small and had flowers in her hair!"

"Haha, _you wish_!" Boyd shot back. "It was probably just a reflection of the light. Or little Rolfie was having dreams again."

"Boyd–! Cut it out! You know I'm telling the truth!"

"Behave, you two," Oscar warned.

"She _was_ real. I'll show you," Rolf grumbled.

"There's only one way to find out," Oscar said.

With that, he searched through the dwindling food supplies. Taming animals was easiest done when they were hungry, and something told Oscar that these 'fae children' were just that. Well, it wouldn't take much to send his brothers out to supplement for this strew. Oscar began by gathering some of the stream water and filtering and putting it up to boil. He stirred it in gentle strokes.

As the day turned into twilight the scent seemed to carry farther in the incoming night air.

He used the remaining most savory onions and meat for the stew, and cooked it slowly, stirring in the best, most aromatic spices he had left.

This was his enchantment. He watched the stew bubble and kept the fire burning strong. It was harder to accomplish in an open area where things could be overturned or where any errant wind could blow out their fire. Still, he'd had enough training to be a proficient cook in or out of the kitchen.

It took slightly longer than he had expected, but it wasn't long before Oscar heard rustling in the bushes. He did not have to turn around to know that these footsteps were not those of wild animals. He did not have to turn to see those three small pairs of eyes that watched his every move. Oscar went on cooking as if he knew nothing of them there. He smiled knowingly to himself.

He heard voices behind, but nothing sounded particularly special about them. They did not jingle like bells or scatter into the air like a melody. Children, they might have been but fae was doubtful.

When he served up the helpings, it seemed their bellies got the better of them.

A girl stepped forward, in her stained sunshine dress and wilted flower headdress, she might pass as a royalty to the gypsies.

"Fae children, come to dine at our table?" Oscar said with the hint of concealed laughter in his voice.

"Fae girl!" Rolf cried. "See, _told you_ she was real, Boyd!"

"Just because there's a girl doesn't mean she's a fae," Boyd shot back.

There was the hiss of indiscernible conversation as another boy entered. A blue haired boy with a perpetual frown, as if he was squinting into the sun. With him followed another, far different child. He had the appearance of a creature that came from one's nightmares, and he in truth did look like some darker fae creature. A goblin, a gremlin or something even blacker in the realm of the dark fae things.

"There's enough to share," Oscar said. He smiled, as always. This seemed to only make the sour-looking boy that much more suspicious.

Still, hunger got the best of whatever cautious restraint they had. The little girl and blue haired boy ate with relish. They ate like it was the best meal they had ever had or could remember and given their stare, that very well could be true. The boy looked suspiciously at him. He did not drink the stew with the desperation of a drowning man finally finding air. He sipped at it cautiously, as if it might bite back or contained some noxious poison hidden beneath the spices.

The little girl chatted with Rolf between bites. Soup spilled down her dress and added even more to the menagerie of stains. The blue haired boy was not quite as amiable, but that was more because when he ate his entire attention was laid to the food. The smaller, paler and darker boy said nothing whenever possible. If he was spoken to he gave little more than scornful, monosyllabic and suspicious answers.

When they had all finished their bowls (the blue haired boy came for seconds after finishing the leavings of the smaller boy's portion)

"I don't believe I know your names," Oscar said.

"Oh, I forgot. I'm Ike, and this–" he pointed at the girl "is my sister Mist."

"Hiii," she said.

"This is Soren," he motioned to the bitter boy "we found him along the way and he travels with us now."

"Is that so.." Oscar said.

He didn't mention their youth or how unsuited they were to traveling the woods alone. Beasts prowled here. Without his spear and Boyd's skill with an axe, they might not have dared to come this way. Three children, two of them on the fragile side.. They were practically helpless. Oscar's innate motherly instincts were already awakened.

"So why are you guys traveling out here anyways? Aren't you a bit scrawny for this kind of thing?" Boyd burst in.

Oscar sighed internally. He had wanted to skirt such issues and gently convince them to stay a while longer. Boyd had metaphorically thrown a boot at the precious piece he had been attempting to painstakingly build.

Mist was unaffected in as she was lost in her bright world of faeries and princesses but Soren looked especially taken back by this. Before Ike could answer, he stopped him.

"You first," he said tersely.

"Our dad died so Oscar pulled out of the knights and started to support us. We're going to a job right now. After that we had an assignment in back near Crimea again," Boyd interjected.

"We're looking for our father," Ike said before Soren could stop him.

"He's a mercenary named Greil. He started a whole big mercenary group and it's named right after him," Mist piped in, somehow momentarily distracted from the faery world she had drawn Rolf into.

"Greil? That was the contractor we were going to check next, right Oscar?" Boyd said.

"Yes, that's definitely the one."

"You know our father?" Ike said.

"Not officially, no .I heard from another mercenary group that he was hiring. After taking care of a job for them, I was going to see if he would take us in," Oscar said. He leaned on one elbow and supported his chin in a thoughtful manner.

"How coincidental," Soren said in a rough voice that implied he thought it was anything but.

"I think it's fate, or fae," Rolf said. "How else would we have met like this? I bet if we stayed together good things will happen!"

"No thanks. We've got to find my father," Ike said

"No? At least you could stay until we get out of this forest," Oscar said. "We seem to be going the same way."

Ike and Mist looked to Soren for guidance. He seemed to be utterly repulsed by the idea, but then most things seemed to repulse Soren.

"I suppose...it would be acceptable. But only until we're free from Gallia.."

"Yippieee!" Rolf cried. "We'll make flower bracelets and play make believe and oh! You can show me the berries to make for pie! Oscar makes such a yummy pie like you wouldn't believe!"

"I don't think we'll be having any pie out here, Rolf. I don't have any crusts. A kind of jam, however might be possible."

Oscar smiled. They were smiling again, though it took some time to lift the sorrow from their shoulders where it had caught. It'd only been two weeks since he'd found out about their father's untimely demise. During that time Rolf had cried until his eyes were swollen and red and Boyd had turned especially irritable. Oscar was too old for crying and now the one in charge. He couldn't let himself become angry at nothing like Boyd had turned to. So Oscar smiled. And smiled and smiled until it felt like the muscles of his face might stretch and break into pieces. He banished all unhappy memories with the jobs and plans of what was to come. But with these travelers, these little fae strays it was the first night all three of them were truly happy. Rolf hadn't cried himself to sleep and Boyd and Rolf had stopped arguing for two whole minutes or even more.

And Oscar, he had cooked until he burned himself and cut his fingers and had three new charges to take care of. Even if they only stayed a little while, these little fae ones were bound to bring some much needed good luck to them all.

**.**

Sephiran was drawn to the energy of the village. Burning ashes were all that was left of this highland, Daein village. Ruined, fallen out buildings and the wafting, lingering remains of these people's last misery.

Where was their Goddess now with all her kindness and justice and shining mercy?

Sephiran walked through the ashes his footsteps crunching over bone fragments and the leavings of house walls. The wind echoed through this place, the sound was like a banshee's cry of agony. It whipped at his hair and blew back the dark coal strands into his face. Sephiran listened through the sad screams of the night to the rustling he had first heard when flying over this ruined place. Fate had lead him here, and now he waited on its whim. He heard a sound and placed his hand on the door to the second house on the right. The wood itself was jammed and it took some force to free it.

Sephiran felt the disturbance in the air. This was a spirit's dwelling. It had not taken long after humans had left this house for the spirits from the ether to take residence in this drafty, cold place. Smoke curled up from the middle in great grey plumes, though there was no visible fire to be see.

A boy sobbed in the corner of a ruined house. Tears made paths over his filthy cheeks. Already a red mark placed over the boy's forehead, like a fingerprint left in blood. He had been touched by a spirit of this enclave. The mark was almost like that of a Dragon's child, but not quite. It was only a true researcher who could tell the difference of such things.

"Come with me, child," Sephiran said gently.

The boy lifted his eyes upward, fearful and hopeful all at once. He drew back like a frightened animal at the sight of Sephiran. His navy hair was so matted that it was hard to distinguish whether it was truly curls or simply a nest of burrs woven through his silky hair.

"I'll take you home."

"Mama?" he said.

"Soon, soon. She's been waiting for you. She's horribly worried."

_"Mama,_" the boy sniffled.

He lifted the boy up carried him out of the bones of the town. Soon the child gave into the comforting embrace of sleep.

**.**

It took two day's walk to go to the villa of the queen. The king, even in his madness had at least the mercy to let her live. Though, it was debatable if that was truly mercy when she was forced to live a life devoid of everything she had ever held precious. He pushed open the heavy vine-strangled gates and slipped into the garden. There was no guard and he guessed that there was at most, one or two servants. No one dared rob the mad queen,

He supposed it would be hard even finding servants who would be willing to work for a person with such a colored past. The local people always found ways of filling mysterious spaces with the most fanciful, yet horrifying of explanations.

He held the boy's hand and guided him past rusted out fountains with dirty water. Weeds had overtaken the gardens and spread hungry limbs over the spaces in the stone path. A knocker made of a gargoyle's head cast in dark metal was there. Black metal framed over the sides of the heavy, dark-tinged door. When no answer came, he tried opening it.

She stood within the lounge and stared out at the window. She was blank, uncomprehending and so far off within another world that it seemed a crime to disturb her. Still, disturb he must.

The furniture was draped in sheets like a child pretending to be a ghost. She herself looked like a specter amidst the dust and memories of this room.

He drew closer in approach of this mad woman of past. She had once been great and feared but now she was just a legend, a thing to warn children of and leave them shivering in their beds.

"Greetings, queen." Sephiran bowed. "I've found your son."

The fallen queen whirled around to face him. In her eyes was the fierceness of a spirit pushed farther than the limits of her body could stand. He could feel the power of her, unhinged, a fiery explosion waiting to happen.

She still remained proud despite her imprisonment. While the cage may have been of gold, she was little more than a bird that had kept his attention for a short while but had been cast aside when his expectations were not met. She wore all black, as if in perpetual mourning. A veil covered her oval shaped face, but it was translucent enough that he could still see her eyes. Those eyes were full of a mix of sadness and fury, a constant fluctuation of hot and cold, emotions twirling and dancing in the confines of her madness.

It could only lead to a storm.

"My child," she gasped.

She looked at the child with searching eyes and for one brief moment Sephiran wondered if the deception would fail. Still, her powers were dulled enough by the madness and human-touched corruption of her powers. She could no longer sense her own blood continued.

"There requires the payment," Sephiran said. His voice was cold and clear, like a winter's night. She turned back from her child to face him again. Any warmth her face might have contained before at the sight of the boy had vanished.

"Payment?" she spat out. "Trust be your kind to demand more."

"Your dragonstone," Sephiran said.

"You'd take the last lifeblood from me? I have lost everything but my dear, sweet son," she said.

"And isn't his life a fair payment for that?"

She remained silent, her mouth twisted downwards in grim, hateful petulance.

"You know it is the will of the goddess," Sephiran said.

"The goddess _sleeps_. How would you know her wishes?!"

"I know many things," Sephiran said. "Soon, soon enough she will wake. Do you wish to be part of her judgment?"

She gave him one last scornful glance before she reached into her dress. She procured a large, blood-red crystal and with it handed over a part of herself. No longer would she be a danger to the people of Daein. She would not vent her wrath upon them.

The boy ran to her, a long lost lamb that clung and snuggled against her. He was so starved that he would accept any mother or person that would loved him.

"My dear, dear son. We'll never be apart now."

The boy sniffled and buried himself against her. He clung for all that was worth. It wouldn't hurt her to know that she had been given a substitute, a lamb that looked and smelled just like her own child. If it made her happy, what was the matter of blood?

When the villa and the queen's madness was far behind him, Sephiran withdrew the payment. He felt the dragonstone glow underneath his fingers. The untold power of dragons... Dragons that had learned to contain their energy and walk among men.

Some had even married and intertwined their blood with the human's more frail heritage. They were known by many names – Scalelings, halfbreeds, and Dragon's children

"Now lead me to your new owner," he whispered. "Show me her true blood child."

The red stone turned clear and an image appeared within its angles. A forest, three children he knew well. A child whose hand he had guided without even realizing the full extent of that gesture.

Sephiran half smiled. Even he hadn't foreseen such an irony.

"Fate, she works in mysterious ways."


	4. The Old Gods

Title: The Lost Children: IV. The Old Gods (Ten)  
Fandom: FE9Au  
Character/Pairing: Ike, Soren, Mist, Oscar, Boyd, Sephiran, Sanaki, Naesala with cameos by Caineghis & Ranulf.  
Rating: PG? I think Naesala's appearance might have pushed it to PG-13  
Chapter Summary: The troubles of mortals have aroused some curiosity in the gods.  
A/N: 19. tangled in a thousand strands The Gauntlet. Merry Christmas, Myaru. II haven't forgot this story, life just came up. Hopefully the next parts will come along sooner.

IV.  
The Old Gods (Ten)

"I'm really tired of this forest," Boyd said.

What had once been full of wonder and magical creatures was even starting to wear down the youngsters. They no longer looked with excitement under every new stump or leafy abode beyond them. There was no longer any newness to the green world about them. The exoticism turned into the familiar and thus became boring.

Soren lead the way, no one asked but his sense of direction hadn't let them down yet. It as uncanny his the way he could discern directions even beyond wind and moss and the shadows from the sun. It was instinctual, almost intrinsic his way with maps. Should he ever bore of a job as a scholar, he could become a fine cartographer, for more than direction, he seemed to have a memory of places which he could jot down easily. For all purposes, Soren might as well been a living, breathing map of all countries, that changed at will when the need arose.

"A few more miles and there's a break," Soren said. No one questioned his knowledge now, for he had proven to have a precognitive sense of lands.

They stepped out from the shade and leafy palms of branches extended towards them and into the light of the day. This seemed only a break for now, but it was a welcome one.

There was a fork in the road. Oscar was poised for the left, while Ike and his little band were determined to go to the other side. They stood there, at an impasse, their separate destinations spread out before them and waiting.

"Where will you go after this?" Oscar said.

"We're going to find father," Ike said, steeped in determination.

"I admire your drive, but do you have any idea yet where you are going?" Oscar said in his most delicate way.

"Soren will find a way. I believe he'll help us find father."

"I hope he is as adept at finding food as he is finding his way," Oscar said.

"You're leaving, really?" Rolf said, his voice squeaking a bit. "Can't you come with us to find your father?"

"No, I've got to find him too. If I leave Ike alone he'd go and do something stupid. I can't have that happening," Mist said.

Soren cleared his throat. "He'd hardly be alone."

Rolf and Mist embraced tight, his head for a short moment, laying on her shoulder like a couple long older that had known each other many millennia of partings and findings.

"I'll find you again, Faerie girl."

"We'll never be really that far away if we remember each other. Then we can just keep that memory safe until we meet again."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Any longer and they'll be in tears and knitting things for each other."

"_Boyd_," Oscar warned.

"Boyd, you jerk!" Mist and Rolf cried in unison. Mist even added to the moment by sticking her tongue out.

Ike and Soren's goodbyes were far more restrained, especially Soren's. Oscar entrusted to them a bit of their food. And then, they parted.

The group were again lost on their journey to a place where world meet, a place with some unseen door where his father had been taken to.

**.**

But their presence was not forgotten by the king of the land. A great lion stood through his territory, with hundreds of eyes of every color peeking out to the intruders.

the intelligent looking blue cat came before him, gave a bow and rose. A beastman sprung forth from the feline creature. His eyes were two different shades, a trait he'd inherited from his mother.

"There's intruders here, but they're just children. There's others walking with them, older ones."

The king considered this.

"Have they destroyed the forest as they went, or killed wantonly the creatures? Have they attacked our kind?"

"No. I let the tyke have a rabbit and he didn't even eat it in the end. Something about his sister eating berries. The scaleling saved them. Do you think it was that old fox again?"

"I would not be surprised if it was," the beast king said, his voice a rumbling roar over the still forest. "There are very few things he does not have his hand in."

"Let them pass, then. If they stay too long we will escort them from our domain, but in a gentle manner. We don't wish to have hoards of humans coming to slaughter us and killing children to keep our secret would leave a bad taste in my mouth."

His minion nodded, the grin never leaving his face.

"Well, I'll just have to keep Lethe from eating them alive. You know how she despises humans. I think she'd even eat them all if she wasn't so opposed to having them becoming a part of her."

**  
.**

Sephiran arrived at the hallowed gates of Begnion. Two winged lesser attendants, personal attendants to Sanaki herself regarded him with some derision. He suspected that Sanaki had spent some time laying out all of his faults, tardiness high amongst them. Both women were protective of their lady, almost to a fault.

Sanaki folded her dusk and velvet wings. They were a deep shade of purple with gold tips, a most royal color, almost like a sunset. She had grown several inches since he saw her last, and he had to blink to realize that it was not a tiny runt of a girl but now a young woman. One who was not pleased with him, this Sephiran could tell.

"You're late. You said you would be home far sooner," she said.

Sephiran bowed, as if he didn't outrank her by far. "Apologies, I met up with an unexpected delay."

"Hmmph," she said.

"I should be here a long while," he said as a compromise.

She turned her back on him. Sephiran knew it would hours, perhaps days before she would forgave him.

"And what have you been up to?" He said, making conversation despite the steady feel of her anger in this room, smouldering like an unchecked fire.

"Things," she said.

"Things involving Kilvas?"

"Maybe. If you'd be around here more then once ever century you wouldn't have to wonder," she spat out.

Sephiran made a mental note to remind Kilvas again what amount of pain would be heaped upon him should he deflower her. She was at a difficult age, just barely into her teens. She'd been ten the last time he'd seen her, but time flowed fast for her. She was already fourteen and far different than the tantrum-throwing girl he'd left behind to manipulate the affairs of humans. Now she was a tantrum-throwing almost-woman with budding curves and a impetuous manner to boot.

**.**

Naesala gnawed on a piece of gold that had been left to him by a generous follower of his. Being the god of thieves did have its advantages. His followers were never the stuck-up, overly pious types that clung to churches like bad mold. They were completely unrepentant finicky lot. They far preferred rum and dancing to prayers and fasting; His followers usually only asked for his help during chases that had taken a turn for the worse. Often they promised him a share of the gold when they had lived through this. Really, it was enough simply to have ample excuse to play with guards but gold as well? That only made his job all the more appealing.

One girl from a very dedicated group of thieves had even offered herself on the altar. She had been dark and wiry, but with enough curves and reasonably attractive. He'd given her the wish she wanted and more. Not only would she carry his child, he'd given her the best night of her life. It was more a curse than a blessing, really, for now she had been ruined for all mortal men.

Oh well, that was the breaks of dealing with mortals.

Unlike most of the other 'gods' of this group, Naesala didn't watch the humans over benevolence (or ignore them altogether as the dragons gods had taken to) but out of amusement. His followers were the kind of people he liked, and they offered beautiful, delicious gold at small out-of-the-way altars. Or as that girl, their bodies.

A noise like a clatter, a sound of metal wings drew Naesala from the mirrorlike pool he had been watching from. The loss of his attention made the image shatter back into blankness of an otherwise innocuous looking pool. Damn. It had just been getting interesting too.

He sat back, not quite up to the task of bowing and scraping at her feet like so many of the others indulged her. She held up her chin, defiant, waiting for his compliance.

Amusing.

"Oh, damn it all," she muttered.

"I see the Empress herself isn't above swearing like a commoner."

He turned and found himself caught in the cold glare of that little princess Sanaki. She tossed her head regally. He didn't mentally call her _The Empress_ for nothing. Naesala knew he wasn't the only one to give her that title either. She walked around as if she ruled the place simply because Sephiran thought himself her father figure. And of course Sephiran was their self-proclaimed leader who was constantly away with some bleeding-heart manipulation of the humans. Should one starving child cry, Sephiran was off with another disguise to pass about bread.

As if that'd cure all the hurting in the world. When he wasn't about feeding starving children, Sephiran snuggled kittens and was generally Loved By All.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Attending to my believers."

"Sephiran says that once I reach sixteen I'll gain my own goddesshood. I wonder what I will receive."

"You still have a good three years which you should spend learning from him."

"He never said I couldn't help others. Besides, he's never here to learn from."

"I'm quite fine doing my duties on my own," Naesala said coolly.

She raised a brow. "What, are you afraid of Sephiran's wrath?"

"Cautiously aware. It'd be fool to get on his bad side, even with his guard dog away."

"What about _my_ wrath?"

He tweaked her nose. "You're too young to do more than throw tantrums and run to _daddy_."

"You! You're horrible! Incorrigible! Dastardly rogue!"

Naesala bowed. "You're too kind."

She balled her fists and growled in frustration. Then, she promptly stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Well, wasn't she a feisty one.

**.**

They called themselves gods but what were they really more than guardians? They had stemmed off from the Zunama but their lives were long and old age did not take them as swiftly. They had powers and senses that were a mere dream to the dulled, blind and helpless humans. Thousands of years later from their birthing they remained in their prime. They were to watch over the humans, they were there to fill the absence the goddess had left.

To something as frail as the humans, they might as well be gods.

Sephiran was the oldest of all of them, he had once been a companion to the goddess. Most of them had been born after, only Sephiran, Rafiel and Dhengesea could recall her voice and what she had looked when not asleep. Humans needed something to worship, so they set themselves up as their pantheon. It was surely as their goddess would have wanted. Thus they became the Gods the people made them into. Tibarn allied himself with war, but not simply the brutes – the noble wars fought out for justice. His closest companion set himself up with honor and law – and revenge. The holy revenge of the wronged. Together they were fierce, even if Reyson's kind was that of nonviolence, his mere request to Tibarn was almost more feared than simply facing Tibarn, for then the hawk king, god of war would be _livid_.

Leanne took herself in feminine matters. Love, women's prayers, she liked mischievous things like that. Naesala took on the thieves for there was no other place for him to fit. Ravens were always prone to stealing and materialism. Everyone had a role in life, and theirs was to be the designated 'gods' of the enigmatic ones. Never had a race so weak been so cruel as the humans, and without them, they would surely have killed each other in their endless wars.

**.**

Sanaki came to him much later, when dusk encrusted the skies like ice. She was haughty and unrepentant as always, but he knew that she had forgiven him for the time being. He was in the large chair in the Manithal Cathedral, a place wherein he had read many a story to her in the younger years. She sat on his lap without being ask to or asking, and he set aside the book he had only been halfheartedly reading.

"Tell me, the story of how I was born," she said.

"That story?" Sephiran said. "But I have told you many times already."

"Tell me again, then," she replied.

"I found you wandering on a cloud. You had no parents, they say you were born of a tear of the goddess, but I suspect you were a fragment of her anger that fell to the sky and broke into life. It would explain your temper."

She harrumphed.. "The goddess can't create anymore, she's asleep."

"Not true. Sometimes she dreams things into being in her deep slumber. If you sing enough, she might hear your plea and answer it."

"Have you sung to her? And tell me of your past! You said you'd tell me when I got older!," Sanaki said.

"....now, now, isn't it your bedtime?"

Sanaki scowled. "I'm not a child anymore. I should be able to stay up far longer than this."

"If you wish to go dawn catching with me tomorrow you'll want to go to bed early."

"...fine. But I get to stay up twice as long after that!"

"You can stay up all day and night if you want and I won't tell you no."

"But you _will_ tell me 'I told you so' when I fall asleep in my dinner," she said.

"Ah, yes. But it won't be a no."

She snorted and went off his lap, tossing her head indignantly and walking out. She didn't need him to tuck her in anymore.

When Sanaki was safe asleep, he left to seek out Kilvas in the watching room, for night was his time. He took up other's at times, but it was more to watch some lurid affair than true helping. Kilvas was a god who could only be won over by coin – and perhaps offerings of a carnal nature.

He was predictable like that.

**.**

"Funny, your pawn hasn't been about recently," Naesala said, firing the first shot in their verbal battle.

Sephiran was blank to this, but Naesala noticed a twitch at the side of his mouth, a tightening. Interesting.

"I hear you've taken to tutoring Sanaki. I think it would be best if you left such duties to me," Sephiran said.

"Are you threatening me, o high lord?"

"I have a long memory, Kilvas. I'm sure Reyson would be interested to know about what occurred in the Serenes with Leanne oh, seventeen years ago. I'm sure Tibarn would be intrigued as well."

"Are you _blackmailing_ me?" Naesala for once was dumbfounded. Blackmailing was _his_ thing, all the others were too high and virtuous to get their hands dirty with such things. He couldn't believe the old man would be using his trademark reflected back on himself.

"Call it what you will," Sephiran said. "You do know what happened to the last person who angered Reyson, don't you? I believe Tibarn has turned their spine into a fine necklace."

He'd underestimated the high lord's sources, and his ruthlessness. It was easy to do, to underestimate that soft-spoken fragile bleeding-heart – he wouldn't do it again.

"What do you want, Sephiran?"

"Stay away from her," he said.

"For your information, it is her who seeks me out. I was spending a perfectly good day attending to my worshipers. You act as if my main goal in life was to deflower her, but never take into account that _she_ might be the one to try and seduce _me._"

"Because you are such an innocent, Kilvas of the thieves," Sephiran said, narrowing his eyes. "In the end it is a simple bargain. Keep it in your pants and you get to keep your head."

"Oh, but I'd be careful, o high lord. Everyone has secrets...even you. Especially you."

Naesala paced about him, his black boots making rhythmic sounds upon the stone floors. "I have a theory that has proven quite true over the years. No one keeps secrets unless they have something unpleasant to hide. Something that they don't want to come to light..."

Sephiran said nothing in response.

"Sleep well, Sephiran. Take you many secrets with you but oh...know that I will find them out."

Naesala walked out, his black wings folded. The room was cast to darkness and silence.

Maybe that'd give the old dullard something to think about.

**.**

Sephiran studied the waters. He saw the travelers he had so followed now leaving the wood, cats staring out at them. They came to a town, an opportunity called. Perhaps, he could be there in a night's time and feign emergency— For technically, it was. A building emergency, a time to proof against threats of the future. He pulled on his cloak, it would be short. Surely he'd be home before morning.

The door opened behind him before he could begin the descent. He looked back to find Sanaki looking at him, pinning him with her incensed gaze.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Sephiran said.

"You're leaving _again?_"

"Only for a short while. There is one small detail that must be rectified."

She crossed her arms. "You said you'd be here a while. So you were lying."

"No. Something unseen arose. I'll attend to it and return as soon as possible."

"Unseen things don't happen with you."

Sephiran smiled. "Call it a slight miscalculation. Those do happen from time to time. I thought the forests of Gallia would keep them longer, but it seems they were faster than I expected. How did you know where to look for me?"

"I struck a deal with Kilvas to notify me of your whereabouts."

Sephiran's jaw set. "I thought I told you to stay away from that charlatan."

"I believe you did. I, however, didn't care to listen."

Sephiran sighed, longsuffering. "What am I to do with you?"

"You could keep your promises for once," she said.

"It doesn't count as breaking if I was only gone for a few hours time, now does it?"

"It does," she said flatly.

He bent to kiss her forehead, and held for a moment at both her cheeks.

"Stay away from Kilvas," he said. "And I mean it. I don't want to have to call Tibarn into this. I won't be gone long, merely to make a delivery. Then, we can go dawn catching. Alright?"

"Fine," Sanaki said grudgingly.

Sephiran nodded and made his descent. Feathers stirring, winds shifting and the clouds beneath until he felt the coldness of the middle regions. People who had scaled mountains believed the higher altitudes to be cold, but it only went to a certain point. When one reached Begnion, then everything became balmy, and there was never winter.

It was a paradise, to be sure.

--

Ike had run ahead towards a food stand. They were running low, but for all his severity, Soren couldn't deny Ike food when he looked like that. Ike didn't even have to do a Mist-like pout with cute expression. All he had was that sort of look where sadness fell around the edges and Soren was already giving in and spending money they couldn't truly spare.

He thought to himself of attempting to convince Ike to winter over in a place. It would increase their funds and decrease their chance of frostbite and death by cold, or starving to death. Also, if they came to a place with a diverse enough library, he might be able to find it via research. One winter might be enough to discover the works of a phantom come from thin air.

"Boy, I have a deal for you."

Soren looked sharply to a peddler, black-cloaked and huddled as he was.

"I'm not interested," he said.

"But oh, you are," the peddler said. He withdrew a large stone, many faceted and clear with a red shine. It was a fascinating stone to him, hypnotic. It even seemed to sing, a clear note as his fingers made their way to touch the stone, to grip it in his hands and call it his own.

"Soren! Are you going to come eat?" a familiar voice called through the ether.

Soren shook his head and the spell was broken. In a flash of self realization, Soren drew back from the draw of the stone.

"It's likely a bewitched fake. Stay away, you charlatan."

Soren backed away from the draw, the man in black who called for his attention.

"Oh, I assure you of its veracity. It's quite real. And you can hear it, can't you? You see I'm not here to _sell_ it, I'm here to _give _it to you. Father Radolphus entrusted it to me."

"...Father Radolphus?"

Soren wavered. He gaze kept going to the stone, its deep color, its song. There was a warmth to it, one that Soren wanted desperately to possess.

"Soren, come one!"

Finally, he grabbed the stone from the peddler's hands and shoved it under his robes."

"That's a good boy. Father Radolphus would be proud of you."

Soren gave him one last suspicious look before turning on his heel without another word to return to his little group.


End file.
